


3 times Maes didn't say "I love you", one time he did (and one time he didn't say anything at all)

by Piedpiper6666



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 5 Times, Anal Sex, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Language, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oral Sex, POV Roy Mustang, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sad Ending, i wasnt sure since most of the sex is pretty vaguely described except near the ending, let me know if this should be rated explicit instead of mature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piedpiper6666/pseuds/Piedpiper6666
Summary: “I think I might be in love with her, Roy,” he said, but now there was something else in his voice, some mixture of pleading and guilt that made something inside you twist and shrink.So anyway, this thing between us has to stop,you thought, and braced yourself for it, but it never came.The phone seemed to be waiting for your response, and in an instant all the hope that had bulleted out of your chest at Maes’s first words came rushing back.You should be the one to stop this,you thought to yourself,you really should.But,the much, much bigger part of you whispered,don’t let anyone say you’re any good at doing what you should.





	3 times Maes didn't say "I love you", one time he did (and one time he didn't say anything at all)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tierfal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/gifts), [ShanaStoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanaStoryteller/gifts).



> My first fic in the FMA fandom (and baby's first smut fic!) Please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed, or if you have any constructive criticism! (or if you notice any grammar/spelling mistakes, haha) :) Also please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything that I don't already have tagged.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (also haha what time period is this? do maes and roy live in the same city while maes is married? u n i m p o r t a n t)

“Hey, d’you…. d’you remember Lily Taylor?”

You lifted your head from between Maes’s legs with an amused smile on your face; part of you was used to his habit of thinking the oddest things at the worst of times, but the other half sometimes wondered if his brain _ever_ turned off.

“From the Academy?” you answered with a smirk, and a twist of your wrist. 

“Oh… _fuck_. Uh…,” he trailed off, “yeah. Yes, from the Academy,” he finished, somehow determined to continue the conversation as if unaffected. “I was just wondering what ever happened to her.”

“I thought she quit, didn’t she?” you answered, shifting up and along his body so you could run your hands gently along his sides, feeling the strength in his muscles and the quivering of his skin. “After that day she ran up and kissed you in the middle of lunch, I never saw her again.”

Maes looked at you with something akin to fire in his eyes, and arched his hips up towards the place where your mouth used to be. “She was, hah, halfway in love with you, wasn’t she?”

“In love with _me_? It was you she loudly proclaimed her love for,” you said.

You didn’t mention the night when Lily Taylor showed up unannounced at your dorm with a bottle of the cheapest brandy you’d seen, asked whether Maes was in the room, (“No, he’s out doing whatever the hell he gets up to when I’m not there to babysit him.”) and pushed inside, sitting down on your bed and declaring that both Maes Hughes and the concept of love itself could kindly fuck themselves on a rusty nail; she then fell back with a _thump_ onto your pillows, wordlessly brandishing the brandy in your direction.

You also didn’t mention how the burn of it sliding down your throat at least felt better than the burn of seeing him every damn day, or how much you’d agreed with Lily’s assessment.

“Yeah, well, maybe she was _all the way_ in love with me, but she had to have been at least halfway in love with you.” Maes grinned down at you, and needily grabbed at you for a kiss. “Everyone always is.”

A pause, before, “all the girls, I mean, you womanizer,” and then he pushed you back down, down, back towards sex and away from the beating in your heart, from his mouth, from a halfway love confession.

You obeyed, swiped your tongue up under him, and then, “Why do you ask anyway?” which is never a smart question to ask, but let no one tell you that you ask smart questions.

“‘Cause she sucked cock just like you,” he said, the affection lacing his tone warring with the lascivious grin threatening to split his face.

You spluttered, offended and amused despite yourself, and crawled back up his body with a whisper of, “Let’s see you do better,” because that was easier to say than _is it really just the girls?_

____________________________________________________________________________

“Hello?” you said into the phone.

“I met someone,” the phone said back, with Maes’s voice.

“Okay,” you said slowly, piecing together exactly what that statement meant, to you and to him.

“A girl, I mean,” like that hadn’t been obvious from the start. “Her name is Gracia.”

“Okay,” you said again, leaning back in your chair and dreading what you knew was coming. You thought you had some really, really shitty whisky in the cabinet just waiting for this conversation to be over.

“I think I might be in love with her, Roy,” he said, but now there was something else in his voice, some mixture of pleading and guilt that made something inside you twist and shrink. _So anyway, this thing between us has to stop_ , you thought, and braced yourself for it, but it never came.

The phone seemed to be waiting for your response, and in an instant all the hope that had bulleted out of your chest at Maes’s first words came rushing back. _You should be the one to stop this_ , you thought to yourself, _you really should._

 _But,_ the much, much bigger part of you whispered, _don’t let anyone say you’re any good at doing what you should._

“I think you should come over,” is what ended up making its way out of your mouth and into the receiver, and only breath answered you for a few seconds, which gave you enough time to panic that he wanted you to be the one to say it and just _end_ things already, this could never last, would never-

“Okay,” he said, and you stopped yourself.

The fireplace next to you crackled loudly for a moment, a moment where time seemed to hang in the balance between what it was you decided to say.

“Tonight,” you continued, some idiotic bravery pushing you to keep going, despite the little voice in your head telling you all of the various ways this could go to shit.

“Okay.” he said, more firmly now, as if he _wanted_ you to say that ( _as if he had been waiting for it, expecting it? Does he want this as much as you do?)_ “What time?”

“Now.” you blurted, and then you looked around at the state of your living room and amended, “Wait, uh, actually, maybe half an hour?” with a new shyness gracing your voice. Your confidence was standing on very, very shaky ground.

“Okay,” he finished, and that was definitely a familiar warmth in his voice now, all affection and sex, ( _and something more?_ ) something inherently _Maes_ ( _and wasn’t there something wrong that you were reading quite so much into one little word, “okay,” like that word held all his secrets?)_ “I’ll be there.”

“I’m -- I’m looking forward to it,” and then you put down the phone, dropped your head into your hands and wondered how much shit you’d just gotten yourself into, and how much more you could possibly love him before you break.

____________________________________________________________________________

“I’m going to propose to Gracia,” he announced, and all you could think was _is this really the best time, Maes?_

You tried to lift your neck up to confront him to his face, but with another thrust you were back down on the pillows, shaken with the force of his drive. In your new (old) position, you tried to open your mouth to say “I’m very happy for you Maes,” or possibly “But is her ass as good as mine?” but definitely never “But I love you Maes, please, don’t leave me,” because that last one was as pathetic as it was pointless. You’d known this whole time that this was never going to last; you both had images to maintain, and part of his image required getting a wife and having a kid and that was _fine,_ had always been fine and always would be. Just. Fine.

Anyway, you tried to open your mouth to say one of those things, or maybe a garbled combination, but all that managed to leave you was a broken moan and some panted breaths, which was maybe the best option out of the other three contenders. _How can he just… keep doing this, after saying something like that?_ you thought, but in your hypocrisy you really weren’t complaining. If there’s one thing you could say about Maes Hughes, (and if you were in particularly impolite company who didn’t know either of you) it’s that he’s the best lay you’ve had in your _life,_ and so even if your brain maybe wanted to stop the presses and work through his statement, the rest of you was quite happy to continue.

“Ahh… Maes…” you began valiantly, “we…,” _have to stop,_ your brain finished for you, but this time when he cut you off with a rough thrust forward it seemed almost intentional. Your body absolutely fucking _bent_ for him, _Jesus,_ there was nothing you loved more.

 _Why do you have to stop?_ you very intelligently asked yourself. _You’ve been fucking him this whole time, and Gracia might not be his wife but she’s his fucking girlfriend, Mustang, and that never seemed to make you guilty enough to do anything about it._ In your right mind you could probably have come up with a witty and well-considered retort to that, but as it stood about the only thing crossing your mind was _fuckfuckharderhardergodyesthere_ **_pleasedontstop_ ** _,_ so you didn’t begrudge yourself the wishful thinking.

“But,” he said, and then he grinned down at you, and this time he let you look at him to see it, “I haven’t proposed to her yet.”

And then with another push home, you were gone.

___________________________________________________________________________

Really, it surprised both of you that he was the first to crack.

His wife was absolutely beautiful, very nearly the angel he always claimed. (You were at the wedding and saw both of them glow like heaven, with your own thoughts so unholy you felt both sick and very, very sad, but not sad enough to abandon who was, at his core, your best friend on his happiest day, so you smiled through whatever the hell was squeezing on your heart and he managed to pretend like he didn’t notice.) His daughter was even more radiant; yes, you could admit to yourself, in private, silently, _without_ requiring any pictures, that she was pretty damn adorable. What you were getting at, though, was that his life was good, wonderful even, full of life and love, and that didn’t need to be ruined with you… ruining things. Him. Ruining him. On the couch, on your bed, in the shower…

Which is _why_ you were in your _own_ home, sitting in your _own_ living room, reading a book in front of an alchemically-crackling fireplace and really, honestly not thinking about Maes Hughes (for one of many times in your life; he didn’t take up every damn brain cell when you were trying to get to where you were, no one could) when the doorbell rang.

It was almost midnight, so either someone incredibly stupid decided to ring your doorbell before coming in to rob your house or… well, or something very, very wrong had happened.

Either way, you grabbed your gloves from the side table and slid them on.

But really, when you opened the door, there was almost no way you ever could have expected the sight that met you, no way you could have pictured Maes, eyes wide and desperate, shirt rumpled and hair properly askew, to be standing on your porch, and no way would you ever have guessed he’d make that sound (that impossibly tiny whimper), whisper “ _Roy,”_ and practically tackle you with his mouth.

Suddenly you were confronted with an armful of Maes Hughes, which is definitely not the worst thing to suddenly be confronted with an armful of, but also not exactly what you were expecting the night to bring.

“ _Roy,”_ he said again, and you’d never heard him _sound_ like that before, quite so broken. He stumbled in through the doorway and the two of you somehow tripped and fell your way back over to the couch facing the fireplace, and those thoughts of _ruining_ didn’t seem so far away, anymore.

“Maes,” you began, expecting to be interrupted by a tongue in your mouth, but to your surprise he actually let you talk. “Maes, we can’t. You know we can’t. Your wife, your daughter…”

“I love my wife, and my daughter, Roy,” he said, dually composed and breathless, “but years of living without you like this made me realize something else.” He pushed you over the armrest of the couch, and you fell onto your back, with him climbing over you and slotting your bodies together not long after. His movements were rushed, almost manic, as he fumbled with your shirt, as if it was _him_ who burned for _you_ and not the other way around. He rutted once against your thigh like a teenager and it was then that you realized how _absolutely fucking hard_ you were, just at this… this _man,_ coming in and kissing you and reminding you that he could ask you to do pretty much anything and you would, you really would, but now something was telling you that feeling might be mutual.

“I love your mouth,” he whispered, and then kissed you deep, filthy, electric and blinding, as if proving his point. “I love your body,” and he ran his eyes and hands quick-dirty down your chest after he tore the last button on your shirt off in his impatience to feel your skin. “I love your cock,” he murmured, and he slid his mouth down to place a delicate kiss to its pant-covered crown, in stark, horrifyingly attractive contrast to the one he’d just given you, “and your ass,” and his hands came down to knead it.

You were putty in his hands, always had been, and on a better day you could give as good as you got, had fucked him yourself, had molded him under your hands, but with the last time you felt his lips on yours stretching back _years,_ there was nothing you could have done.

His hands spoke promises, his mouth weaved absolute magic along your body; you closed your eyes and opened them and suddenly you both were naked and he had grabbed your cocks and was pushing them together. His glasses weren’t even on anymore, and you didn’t remember _that_ happening; it had all gone so fast, you felt like this was your first time all over again, two teens fumbling together in a backroom, unknowing of the promises you were inking into your skin. And now as then it was dry, and rushed, and shaky, but unlike then you opened your mouth and said the words you’d been aching to, “I love you,” and he came with a shout on your chest.

He breathed hard once, twice, and then tangled his hand, still sticky with his come, into your hair and whispered “I love you, Roy,” and with the words you’d never expected him to say pushing you over the edge, you lost yourself to bliss.

____________________________________________________________________________

You were wearing black, on the day the universe reminded you that love is utterly, utterly meaningless.

They were lowering him down, shuffling the dirt around, putting a stone with his name on it in front of a hole and asking you to pretend it was anything close to enough for him, or for you, or for anyone.

His wife and child were there too, as was everyone who ever loved him, and hasn’t it always been _him_ who everyone was halfway in love with? Or even _all the way_ in love? You didn’t know, didn’t really care. You’d certainly learned the consequences of throwing too much love around. You really should have known that good things don’t happen to monsters like you.

You were right about one thing, though. Sooner or later, the thing between you was always going to end.

____________________________________________________________________________

“It looks like it’s starting to rain,” you said to Riza hours later, and something inside of you shriveled up, and died, and agreed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Gifted to Tierfal and Shanastoryteller because I have fallen in love with their work so many times that I feel like if I can even come close to doing them justice, it will be 10x better than I normally write :P Thanks to both of you for being such incredible authors!


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